


September 3, 2020

by Poutini



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: A lil' smut, Fluff, Happy Anniversary David and Patrick, M/M, Will write porn for poutine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poutini/pseuds/Poutini
Summary: A short account of David and Patrick's second anniversary.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 28
Kudos: 181





	September 3, 2020

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nontoxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/gifts).



> This morning, one of the first things I saw on social media was in a SC FB group - "How do you think David and Patrick are spending their anniversary?" I immediately sent the post, along with an eggplant and peach emoji, because OBVIOUSLY to a friend. 
> 
> Further, about 17.25 years ago, just shortly before I met my spouse, and right after a longterm relationship had ended, a friend imparted some relationship advice. That over time, your relationship will change, and at some point, it may feel less thrilling, less exciting, but it will have settled into a deep, abiding love that lasts. 
> 
> And then I got up in my feels and this happened. Also, present tense? WTAF?
> 
> And a little birdie told me that someone had a bit of a rough go this week, so this is a thank you for the wonderful gift that was "I'd Swing With You for the Fences".

It’s Thursday, two days before arguably the nicest long weekend all year. 

The grass is dewy in the morning, the leaves have turned, the air has a crisp coolness to it.

One could call it sweater weather, unless one was David Rose, who has somewhat learned to choose his battles, will argue with his dying breath that all weather is sweater weather.

It’s also David and Patrick’s second anniversary. 

The top tier of their cake and the last bottle of wedding wine were consumed last year.

Pictures have been tastefully framed and arranged and hung with pride in their home. 

Patrick’s suit has been donated to an inclusive boutique that provides gender affirming clothing at a reasonable cost, and David’s has been sold on Poshmark, with the proceeds donated to a local BIPOC owned business initiative. 

In other words, remnants of their special day are slowly being shelved, given new life elsewhere, or have been long since digested.

So, David wonders as he lies in bed, listening to the faint sounds of his husband puttering about the kitchen, what’s left? David chews on his bottom lip. The shadow of self-doubt creeps in. Will the memory be enough? Will the feelings fade?

His husband. God, _his husband_ , calls to him from the kitchen, beckoning him for breakfast.

He pads downstairs, paying no mind to his hair, or worrying about the thick black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. 

Patrick greets him with a kiss on the check, and a hot mug of coffee pressed into his hand. 

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he says softly. 

David returns the kiss. “Happy anniversary,” he murmurs against Patrick’s temple. He runs his hands through Patrick’s curls, marvelling at how untamed they’ve become. Patrick hums contentedly. “Breakfast is served,” he says, pulling away slightly, and gesturing to the table. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and some fruit await. 

They eat breakfast alternating between companionable silence and their usual banter, and continue the same as they move through the motions of getting ready to open their store together. 

***

The day passes as the days usually do. 

Inevitably at least one person confuses dairy for cosmetics and questions the best before date of the body milk, and the lip balms at the front require no less than six readjustments. 

Sales are steady, as are the stream of text messages, social media posts and visitors dropping in to wish them a happy anniversary. 

***

Patrick dons an apron and cooks one of David’s favourite meals, pouring him red wine. 

They settle on the couch with their stemware, and soon get a little handsy. 

David takes the lead, drawing Patrick up to their bedroom, where he strips him down to nothing, and lavishes attention on his unfairly porcelain skin. 

He kisses, licks, nips everywhere. He traces the spatters of freckles across Patrick’s shoulders with his fingers, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

When Patrick tips his head back, letting out a low moan, David takes the opportunity to mouth at his neck and up to his ear, taking his earlobe gently between his teeth. 

“What do you want, honey?” he purrs.

Patrick’s breath hitches. “You…” he chokes out. “Always...just...you.”

David backs Patrick up until his knees hit the bed and pushes him to sit. He strips off his own clothes, and straddles his husband, pinning him tight with his knees. 

He reaches over and grabs the lube from the bedside table, grateful for Twyla’s yoga classes and core strength and for not tipping over ungracefully. 

With one hand, he lazily strokes Patrick while he fingers himself open. Patrick watches, eyes dark, hungry. 

Scooting forward, David sinks down onto Patrick’s cock, and tips forward to brace himself on Patrick’s shoulders for leverage. 

Patrick surges up and captures his lips in a searing kiss, wrapping his arms around David’s torso, so he can keep their lips pressed together. He kisses David through the moans, and the gasps, and finally his choked out orgasm.

David is so close. He takes himself in hand and strokes just a few times before he’s coming all over his husband. 

***

They lay in their bed, wrapped up in their blankets. Legs tangled, Patrick’s head on David’s chest, and one arm draped high enough to play with the curls at the nape of his neck that always appear when David gets a little sweaty. 

David thinks about his worry earlier this morning, and it flits away. He doesn’t know when it happened, but something shifted. Lying with Patrick in his arms, he felt it. Yes. This is enough. _He_ is enough. This was a deep abiding love. And it would always be enough. He couldn’t wait to see what their third year of marriage would bring. Maybe next year, he’d make Patrick breakfast on their anniversary.

_ Nah.  _

Some things never change. 


End file.
